


I'll Crawl Home To Her

by SunsetSouvenir



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person, wow excuse me i don't know where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23369032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunsetSouvenir/pseuds/SunsetSouvenir
Summary: This was always going to be how it ended, of course.You left your trail of flamboyant destruction all across Europe.And in its wake: Eve.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	I'll Crawl Home To Her

* * *

This was always going to be how it ended, of course.

You’re smart enough to know this, were dumb enough to briefly try to change it. Not that it made any difference. You played the game so well, you really were the best of the best. You left your trail of flamboyant destruction all across Europe. And in its wake: Eve.

God, Eve and her beautifully amazing hair.

You’d invited her to play, invited her into this other world. You’d enticed her so well. And she’d accepted greedily, all too happy to discard her sad and boring existence.

Oh dumb, beautiful, Eve.

But you understood, had done the same for her, to some degree. Though mostly you’d still arrogantly believed you held all the cards. You know better now, knife to belly and belly to knife, twice, mirrored.

The wind gust whips your hair up, up, up. You watch it tangle with Eve’s.

Oh, you think, oh.

* * *

The scene reminds you of a long-ago moment in a different country when you were both so much more naive. You’d walked into your old Parisian flat, had been eager to disappear into your chic pink and gold bathroom and float in a lavender pool. Except, you’d walked in and it had been all wrong, pink blushes and golden champagne splattered across your floors and you were so tired _._ But then you’d turned around and there, in the middle of all the grand destruction, had been Eve.

You could have killed her where she stood, had you not been so tired.

And then she’d asked you, like she could read your fucking mind, _aren’t you tired?_ Well, yeah, obviously. So you’d laid down with her, promised to not kill her, stroked her face, read the moment entirely wrong.

Stupid _._

It had gotten there suddenly, the knife. You don’t even know where she produced it from, but there it was, in all its silver gleaming glory, up against your baby pink sweater. And that had been so _rude_. You’d laughed arrogantly, convinced Eve couldn’t do it. But then she did. And you had screamed, told her not to pull it but Eve just wouldn't listen, only made everything worse by straddling you and pulling up, encouraging your cells to spill out and over.

She got it all wrong, messed it up, stupid Eve _,_ this wasn’t how you’d wanted it to go. You really weren’t going to kill her then, you’d been honest.

Well, at least she’d stabbed through a shitty shirt.

Even through the pain and rage, strummed the undercurrent of excitement. Oh, if Eve wanted to play _,_ to really truly play, well you were more than happy to oblige.

Eve looks beautiful, you think. Even now, covered in blood and scrapes and panting on the bank under the suspension bridge. Her hair is absolutely wild, as if it’s come alive itself, a being entirely its own.

She might never have looked more beautiful, you think. Even when she increases the pressure behind her blade just enough to tease a drop of blood out of you. You want to moan, loudly, but grin instead, returning the favor.

You might never have loved her more than this, you think.

Sometimes, her quiet and defiant _no_ still echoed through your mind, a million times louder than it ever was in the ruins. Maybe Eve had been right then when you’d told her you loved her and she’d shot back at you, all quiet fury, y _ou don’t understand what that is._

And you had been so mad, so confused. You’d tried so hard, had been so patient and done everything right. You hadn't even killed Niko, even though you'd really wanted to, even though you'd come up with a long list of really great ways to do it.

Eve was supposed to be yours, you should have won then. You had so looked forward to devouring her quietly in some Alaskan cabin.

Fine, maybe you didn’t understand love, not the way other people did, at least. You were pretty sure your version of love was better though. Definitely less boring.

But the sting of her words had felt like being shot, maybe even worse, and so, let the punishment fit the crime. You aimed as you meant to, perfectly precise, blew a hole right through her left side and then you’d left.

At least now you matched, on all dimensions.

“How did we get here?” Eve asks, not relinquishing her grip on the knifes hilt, not relinquishing the pressure behind it. You smile, eyes shimmering.

“You know exactly how. _THIS is what you wanted,_ isn’t it?” you ask, the same words with a new infliction. Eve gets it, makes no move to deny it this time and you’re proud, or something close.

You stare into her eyes, black as onyx, as the night. It dawns on you then, Eve is not the stars in the sky, she never was. You’d gotten it a bit muddled. Rather, she is the black around the stars, the infinite empty stretching on forever, always expanding.

Always taking.

You remember the beach in Barcelona, barely visible from your perch in the Fabra Observatory. Eve had been there too but had joined the party too late. Your hands were already bloodied, your pulse and Eve’s the only ones remaining when she burst through the doors.

You’d unfolded yourself against the cool ground, gazed up at the dome roof, imagined the stars beyond. Eve had joined you, tentatively, after stepping over the already irrelevant warm corpse. She’d lain down with you, side by side, as you’d both gazed up and she’d asked you if you knew anything about constellations.

You’d scoffed, _what a stupid question_. You’d been disappointed that, of all things, she chose such a boring topic. Eve had continued though, had told you with a flat voice that you'd be Cassiopeia.

 _Yeah? Well at least I’d still be a beautiful queen, even upside-down._ You’d answered, and that had effectively shut her up.

You’d laughed while watching her pop her mouth open and shut, delighted to have won again. 

She laughs, you’re not sure why, but you join her nonetheless. “Jesus, I can’t believe this is it.”

“Yeah, it is.” You confirm, wrestling the wind to tuck a curl behind her ear. She lets you, stupid Eve always just lets you.

“We had so much fun, didn’t we?” you ask softly, hand now pressed against Eve’s cheek, stroking gently. Your other hand, of course, still grips the blade aimed just above Eve’s naval. You watch as she raises her arm to mirror you, fingers splaying against your cheek, warm _._

Her nod shakes your arm up, down, up, down.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “we did.”

The neon lights had flashed around you, had allowed you to weave through the annoying Arcade Club in Bury without notice. And God, you’d hated it _,_ hated it so much.

_So many sweaty, poorly dressed nerds. Absolute losers. Get a life._

You contemplated killing them all, kimbo slicing your way through all the floors, basking in their blood. You would’ve started with the virtual reality idiots, they’d never even see it coming with those stupid, stupid things over their eyes.

You hadn't, of course, but the daydream was cathartic, a minor distraction. You’d spotted your target in a far, dark corner and had frowned at how easy that’d make it. It suited him though, you’d supposed, as you’d leaned against a machine, watching. An easy and boring death for a boring man.

Besides, you already knew what pants you were going to buy with the fat stack of cash his blood would bring.

But then you’d spotted those black curls through the sea of losers, a shining light. Her eyes had found yours immediately, her arm had reached out, mouth had formed a loud _no_.

And you’d moved like lightening, had grabbed the man and slit his throat before he could even scream. And beautiful Eve had watched, wide-eyed and frozen even as you moved towards the stairs, even as you’d walked right past her to whisper a taunting _better luck next time_ into that amazing hair.

“I did really love you, you know?” you ask her, pride momentarily abandoning you. She laughs, so deep and loud, it reminds you of Konstantin, that poor, fat, dead man. You’d liked him too, of course, but not as much. Never anyone as much as Eve.

The knife shakes against your stomach, stretching the small puncture into a slight incision.

“Oh Oksana,” Eve sighs and it stings more than the fresh cut, more than all the others littering your body. You contemplate ending it right then, your true name her last word, forever. You don’t, but you’re pretty sure it would be poetic or some shit.

“I know you did.” Bitch _,_ you think, that bitch _._ Stupid, conniving Eve could never just let you win, always had to try to one-up you. 

You push your knife in, just a bit.

Climbing up the spiral steps of Jubilaum Swarte Lookout Tower had been annoying _._ You’d complained as much to Konstantin afterward, even told him that it should’ve earned you a bonus. You’d thought about shoving him through the window when he didn’t laugh at the joke.

She had followed you up the stairs, a dizzying frenzy of gasps and clattering steps. You’d been faster, of course, your young and practiced legs propelling you up three steps at a time. You’d reached the top, target left just where you’d deposited him on the ground earlier that day.

You’d really planned this so well.

You’d begun heaving his dead weight up and over the railing while you waited for Eve. The man had dangled pathetically over the metal railing and the excitement had buzzed in you so, so loudly. Finally Eve had burst onto the observation deck and you’d been so considerate, even gave her a few seconds to catch her breath.

And then, you’d pushed the dead weight, watched him fall into the darkness, saw him bounce off a railing below. Under the half moon lit sky, his blood had shot out like squids ink and you’d squealed in glee.

Then, you had turned to Eve and told her you were _so happy she could make it to the show._ Had asked her _isn’t it better live?_ And Eve, Eve had just screamed a bloodcurdling scream up at the moon, all fury and passion.

It echoed down to you as you bolted down the stairs, better than any national anthem in existence.

“You know what? I think I loved you too, how fucked up is that?” Eve ask and you know better than answering seriously. Inside, your heart hammers.

You push your knife in a millimeter more, watching, waiting.

“There’s no sense in lying anymore, Eve. It is okay, it’s over now.” God, did Eve really think this could still end any other way? 

She deflates with a deep sigh, “I’m not. I… Jesus, I really did love you.” But she says it so bitterly that the words don’t mean anything to you and so you know she’s being honest.

You smile, moving your hand from her cheek into her hair. “You know, I was right then, all that time ago.” You whisper around a smug grin, craning your neck to lean in a bit without completely impaling yourself on her knife.

“Yeah, you asshole, I guess you were.”

“You are mine, always.”

“Well, you’re mine too.” She pushes the blade deeper and fuck, it does hurt more when it's slow.

“Eve, of course I am.” Your fingers run through her unruly curls, still flapping in the wind. “This stupid hair, if it weren’t for your stupidly amazing hair, I swear.”

For the first time, a flash of panic darts across Eve's eyes. You contemplate kissing her, pulling away and running. Contemplate keeping the game going. You want to. More than that though, you want to dig the knife deep in her and drag it up. You want to see her insides all spilled out before you.

“Don’t worry, Eve, I know what I am doing.” You taunt, a long ago reminder.

“So do I.”

And then there’s red.

So much of it, everywhere.

Her blood is sticky and warm against your hand as you plunge and pull the knife once, twisting it a little for good measure. You paint Eve’s blood across your shirt when your hands instinctually rest against your own abdomen, fingers a feeble dam.

Eve is gasping and presumably so are you but time has slowed down, it feels like you’re swimming through jelly and everything is so far away. Vaguely, it reminds you of Russian summers as a child. You think Eve would like to know this, her relentless curiosity probably not quelled, even now.

You sink to your knees on the stony embankment before lying down, face up. Eve sinks down beside you and scoots closer, you’re almost shoulder to shoulder, just a ghost between you both now.

You turn your head to face her and are met with a sea of black curls, Eve’s face an island between them all. Of course she’s still beautiful, even with a greying complexion, even bloodied and broken.

“Eve, it _hurts._ ” You whine, for old times sake, and she laughs, drops of blood spraying from her mouth.

“God, you big baby.” Eve huffs and you can tell that she’s struggling to breathe now. “Fuck, it really does hurt.” She relents eventually and you both lull into silence.

Your edges are beginning to darken when the brush of Eve's fingers, light like a butterfly, ignites your last bit of clarity.

And oh you want to rip the wings, beautiful blue and black, one last time…

“I’m sorry about the first time.” She chokes out in a whisper.

God, she never stops.

“No you’re not.” You sneer the best you can which, disappointingly, is not much.

You do a better job masking your breathlessness, you think.

Good.

“I know.”

Oh Eve.

You smile and next to you, Eve stills fully.

You grab her slippery, bloody hand through the darkness.

“I won.”


End file.
